Between Ice and Altitude

By Alexander Hillary for Crane Brothers

Travel has a way of teaching you contrasts: heat and cold, dust and ice, ceremony and simplicity. As a Hillary, my journeys often swing between the two extremes: the humid chaos of Kathmandu’s streets and the clear, frozen silence of the Himalayas. Packing for these opposites is a kind of art form. One day you’re sitting cross-legged in a mountain schoolhouse; the next, you’re in a meeting with ministers.

I’ve often joked with the team at Crane Brothers about needing a suit/tuxedo that can be rolled into the bottom of a duffel bag — one that can handle both altitude and airline baggage.

In May, I was back in Nepal, this time in my role as General Manager of the Himalayan Trust. My work there was to visit our education and healthcare projects and to meet New Zealand’s Minister of Foreign Affairs, Winston Peters, on his historic visit — the first official visit by a New Zealand Minister to Nepal. It was a milestone moment for both countries.

The Minister travelled high into the Himalayas — to the Khumbu region, where New Zealand’s connection to Nepal was first forged through my grandfather’s ascent of Everest in 1953. But the question lingered in my mind: what do you wear to meet the Foreign Minister at 4,000 metres, several days’ hard walk from the nearest road, without so much as a shower - let alone anything to iron a shirt?

Fortunately, I had packed a simple shirt and a lightweight blazer in my trekking pack. When the Minister and his team arrived — sharp in suits and ties despite the thin air and yak tracks — I was quietly relieved, although still underdressed. It’s a funny thing, to be dressed to greet a diplomatic delegation with the scent of wood smoke and juniper in the air.

My work is all about people: building trust, keeping promises, and showing respect. I’ve learned that how you present yourself matters, even in the most unlikely places. In a subsistence village hundreds of kilometres from a tailor, the elders in Nepal will greet you often in crisp traditional dress or a neatly pressed suit. To meet them with the same care in your appearance feels right, a quiet act of respect.

My grandfather understood that balance instinctively. He had an easy, rugged style, a kind of nonchalance that carried immense presence. I wouldn’t describe Ed as a fashionable man; he was driven and ambitious, and his clothes, like his approach to life, were practical. Yet there was always an understated elegance in that practicality.

Two great landscapes defined Ed’s life: the Himalayas and the Antarctic, two places of complete extremes, both bound by ice, courage, and a sense of purpose. They’ve come to define much of my own journey, too.

A few months after my Himalayan trip, I found myself heading for the opposite pole. Not the Antarctic this time but the Arctic, on a filmmaking expedition following the path of one of my grandfather’s later expeditions where he travelled to the North Pole with Neil Armstrong.

Our expedition had a different character entirely. We sailed aboard the French icebreaker Le Commandant Charcot, a vessel that combines the best of maritime technology with scientific research and unbelievable amenity, all with an unmistakable French flair — fine food, warm service, and incredible luxury amid the desolation of the ice.

My packing list looked more like a study in contradictions: polar boots and down parkas alongside my Crane Brothers tuxedo and a pair of formal shoes.

Some nights aboard we dined in black tie as the ship navigated through the ice following leads – open cracks in the ice sheet – as we made our way further north to the top of the globe. Outside, the ice sheet stretched away in every direction. I was travelling with my father and Neil Armstrong’s son, Mark, and together we shared stories of exploration and friendship over whisky, the horizon glowing faintly under the endless sun.

Just a few hours later, at 3 a.m. and broad daylight, I was pulling on layers of down and wool, stepping out onto the deck to watch a lone polar bear wander across the ice at 86° north.

Clothes, like travel, are about the ability to adapt. They carry you through contrasts, from heat to cold, from formality to adventure. Some are functional; others are reminders of where you’ve been.

And somewhere between the Himalayas and the North Pole, I realised just how far a good shirt - and a little kindness and respect - can take you.

Photography by @elvaroe